


My Angel

by lazy_bird



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bard x Thranduil, Bard/Thranduil - Freeform, Barduil - Freeform, Horror, M/M, Modern Era, Psychological, Rough Sex, Sex, Supernatural Setting, The Hobbit AU, Thranduil x Bard, thranduil/bard - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 17:51:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19891891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazy_bird/pseuds/lazy_bird
Summary: Bard Bowman's father found a sculpture and promised him that it was going to make them happy.Madness.Love.Terror.Those are the things that Bard grew up with and he had enough.But would he be able to get away completely from the sculpture?Can he bury that love?Can he truly get away from the angel that lived with him all his life?Or is it a demon?





	My Angel

**Author's Note:**

> This was an experiment for me.  
> I wanted to write Barduil in this light and I always had this idea in my head and finally, I was able to write it down.  
> I hope you guys enjoy it!  
> P.S. I am planning on using this same story for another ship so if you see the same fic but with different names then you know what's up lol  
> P.S.S.  
> This has graphic scenes of sex.  
> Just FYI.

1951 

When I was a boy my father found it. 

I remember when I came home from boarding school and seeing the big smile on his face. A little too wide but I was a little kid of eight thinking that that smile was because I was home. My father was never the affectionate type—not even when my mother was alive and less when she passed away. 

For a kid, the tiniest change felt like a hundred feet leap into the unknown but my father was my anchor. I could always count on him for being stoic. He loved me, that much I know. In his own way, he made me know that he did care. I had the best of education, there was always food on my plate and he let me sit next to him, by the fire when he read the paper and smoked his pipe. 

I valued those times. 

Now more than ever. 

Now that my father had found it. 

That day we had dinner after I had a very long trip. Usually, when I came home, he would let me rest but not that day. He said that he wanted to show me something. Something that was bringing him happiness and that probably would bring me too. I didn’t understand and my eight-year-old mind was looking for explanations. 

What was it? What was the thing that brought my father to smile so widely? So far there was nothing. There were the usual small smile and the rise of the corner of his lips in a smirk but nothing that would make my father show all his teeth... and make his eyes wide in excitement. 

“Son, come with me,” my father said as he stood up from his chair. 

I did, a little bit too eagerly. The curiosity was getting the better of me and the fact that I was about to share something that made my father so happy was making _me_ happy. I couldn’t hide my smile at all! 

We headed for the basement. I’ve wondered there a few times before but nothing that would spark my interest. Not even my mother’s belongings could make me stay more than ten minutes there. I barely remembered her and father never mentioned her enough for me to form a bond with the second-hand memories. 

“Watch your step here, son,” 

I looked down and saw some ropes and tools that I had never seen before. 

When my father stopped, he turned on the light and I looked up. There was something tall in the middle of the basement and it was covered with a crimson cloak. I studied it as much as the light would let me. I was waiting for the moment where the happiness that this object would bring me would strike but so far there was nothing. 

My father took a few steps towards it and caressed the velvety material with delicacy. His eyes were soft and glossy. There were tears forming but none were falling yet. 

“Some would say that I found him but I am certain that _he_ found me.” 

I looked at my father, still not knowing what was happening. I was a very smart boy for my age and even then, my father was acting in such a way that I would have assumed he was a stranger. 

“He is part of our family now, Bard. We have to love him like any other member, ok?” I nodded confused. “My angel,” my father said to the cloak. “I am going to present you, my son, now, I hope you two can get along,” he smiled and pulled the cloak to reveal it... to reveal him. 

For a moment I didn’t know what I was looking at. Again, the light wasn’t helping but once my eyes were well adjusted, I saw one of the most beautiful pieces of art I have ever seen. I gasped at the sight of him but it was more out of shock than anything. 

It was a marble sculpture, pure white. 

I took a step forward and examined it as much as I could. It looked like it was leaning on something, almost like a rock, the shape of part of the body was showed through a sculptured vail that went from his shoulder, wrapped around his waist and rested between his legs, one of his arms was resting on the marble shaped like a rock while the other was stretched partly towards something bellow him. 

It looked like an invitation and I felt like reaching towards it but I resisted. I just couldn’t understand so I opted for not touching it. The pull of my curiosity was being overpowered by the respect of my father, after all... this belonged to him and I was just a little boy. 

When my neck started to hurt from looking up, I saw that his sculpted hair was long and pushed over one shoulder, long enough to touch his thighs. I couldn’t see well the face but all I could see was a small smile and empty eyes. 

“Isn’t he beautiful?” I nodded. “Come here,” he pushed me to the back of the sculpture where I saw that something was broken. In the sculpture's back, there were like two stumps where his shoulder blades should be. It seemed like my father’s sculpture had... _wings_. 

“This is my angel,” 

“Angel?” 

“Yes, and I want to give him back what he lost,” 

I couldn’t understand what he was talking about. If it meant sculpting wings and gluing them back then it made less sense. My father wasn’t a sculpture—he wasn’t even an artist. Never once I saw my father use a pencil to create something other than words and straight lines. 

He was an architect after all. 

A tear fell from my father’s cheek as we walked back and stood in front of the sculpture. I still remember vividly my father’s face that day. Full of hope. 

“Bard, my son, what do you want to do when you grow up?” 

A very tricky question to ask. I thought my father was testing me so I answered with what I thought he wanted to hear. 

“I want to be an architect. Just like you, father.” 

My father chuckled and ruffled my hair. The foreign affection made me blush a bit. 

“My sweet son, what if I tell you that I know exactly what you can be when you grow up? What if, with these hands, you can make your father happy?” I waited for him to continue, again, not knowing what my father was implying. “I want you to help me,” 

He squeezed my hands, a little too tight but I just thought that that was how he showed this new type of affection so I did my best to not show that it hurt. 

“Help you?” 

“Yes! I—I don’t know how to sculpt but if we start now, then you can be an artist and give him what he lost. You know you have to help family, right?” I nodded slowly. “Good boy, I will take you out from your current boarding school and enrolled you in one that specialized in art. You will be the greatest sculpture there ever will be because... because...” 

I didn’t know what I wanted to hear after those words. Now as an adult I realized that all I wanted was for my father to see _me_ happy. See _me_ succeed in life. But I was very wrong. 

“Because that’s what _he_ deserves,” 

When I was ten, I did something. 

Something was pulling me to the basement and I craved something. At that age, I didn’t know what this meant. I wasn't afraid but curious. 

I looked up at the sculpture and took a few boxes and stacked them in order for me to reach completely. His face was a few inches from me and I just _had_ to know how they felt. 

I’ve seen it in the movies many times. 

A kiss. 

I caressed his face and closed my eyes and I didn’t know what I was expecting at all. All I know that the expectation was there. 

But that was it. I felt ashamed all of a sudden and ran away. I decided to bury that memory deep inside along with these weird feelings. 

I didn’t think it would go that far. 

I studied what my father wanted me to study. Those smooth hands that I had once, became a thing of the past. Each year they became rough and ugly and it was a reminder that this wasn’t for me but for my father’s delusion. 

Of course, I became the best of the best. It was my only option. I would get excellent artists to supervise me during the summer. The time spent at the boarding school wasn’t enough for my father. He craved my success. 

As the years went by and my mind became more aware and more capable of understanding I saw what my father became. I hated going back to my house every holiday and break. Many times, I tried to convince my father to let me stay and it did work. Once. 

It didn’t end good. 

I was fourteen and my father let me stay for summer vacation. All I said was, 

“This would be a great opportunity to improve, father. No distractions. Just practice and practice. That’s what you want, right, father? For me to be the best? I believe this is how I can achieve that and in less time.” 

I gripped the phone and prayed for it to work. 

“Ah... yes,” his voice sounded weak. Like he was in a trance. “I don’t think it would hurt if you stayed,” 

I felt guilty, my eyes filled with tears and my heart was beating fast. 

“Thank you,” I said softly. 

“Just... do your best,” 

But that didn’t last long. 

I got a phone call saying that my father got ill and that they needed me back home. I arrived as soon as I could and went to the hospital. The doctor said that he hadn’t been eating at all during the first month of the summer and that he collapsed on his way to the firm. 

When I saw him... I couldn’t remember him looking this bad. He looked like the life was drained from him. His lips were chapped, his eyes were sunken and dark and he must have lost a lot of weight. 

“He will recover,” said the doctor. “We just need someone to look after him and make sure he eats his food every day. If we stay faithful to the routine, your father will be healthy as ever,” 

I know that his body wasn’t the only thing that needed rest. His mind was also decaying and it scared me. 

“You’re still... here?” 

I woke up a bit groggy and reached for my father but he moved away. 

“Father, you collapsed, of course, I am still here,” 

“I am not important, you need to go home and keep him company,” I made a face and my father didn’t like that. He grabbed my arm and yanked me. “My angel needs company!” 

“Father!” 

“Bard Bowman, I am ordering you to go back and keep my angel company!” then he started crying. “Please... he doesn’t like it when he is all alone...” his body trembled. 

I went back home. I didn’t have a choice. 

For a moment I thought about going straight for the basement but I stayed put. It’s just a stupid sculpture that for some reason my father had decided to give it all his devoted attention. I knew it was beautiful and always gave this ethereal feeling—even at my young age, I knew that the sculpture didn’t belong in a basement. 

It belonged... somewhere else. 

I had never seen it in natural light, only with the pathetic light bulb from the basement. 

There were times that I dreamed that I was running towards it, in a maze full of colorful and poisonous flowers where it was in the middle, waiting with its arm stretched out, ready to embrace me and I _yearned_ it . T here were times where I was running _away_ from it. I never saw it running chasing me but I knew. I knew it was him coming for me. 

I didn’t know why. 

All I knew that we shared the same craving for the embrace. 

And it scared me to a point that I woke up gasping and sweating, the air with that faint smell of flowers. 

I ate something and unpacked everything in my room. There was no reason to go down in a hurry, it wasn’t like the sculpture was going to move and walk around. I made sure that there were, at least, one sane person in the house and it had to be me. I had to be for the sake of my father. 

But eventually, I did go down. 

Nothing was out of place, just the same basement with the same sculpture that I have known for six years now. There was no denying that it was part of my life now and somewhat, part of my family. Sometimes I loved it. Sometimes I hated it. There wasn’t much I could do about it. I was powerless as long as I was a kid. 

That’s why I always prayed to grow up fast. 

Finish my studies, fix the sculpture and move far, far away from it. 

There was no doubt that I still had more to learn. Sculpting marble is difficult and expensive. I knew that even if, after I turn eighteen, I still needed to go to college and continue my art studies but I really wished time would just run faster. A fourteen-year-old kid shouldn’t think like this... 

In front of the sculpture, there was the chair. 

That chair never moved. 

Father always sat there and most of my memories were of his back, his gaze looking up. I realized that as time went by, the less I had to look up. Puberty was amazing and I knew that I would probably taller than my dad. 

I also wished I was taller than the sculpture. 

Just thinking about me gazing down on it made me shiver. Finally, it was me who had the power. Finally, I could beat it. Finally, it would know who belonged to whom— 

I stopped for a moment and realized what my thoughts were. This basement was definitely affecting the mind. Maybe there was a gas leak, but I knew there wasn’t. I didn’t need the plumber to tell me something that I already knew. It was a fool’s hope. I just needed something to make sense for once. 

My father got better and I helped him during the summer. 

His cheekbones were less visible and he looked better. Still tired and frail but there was an improvement. That day he made me promise something. 

“Bard, my child, promise that you will come to see me every chance you get, ok? Your old man needs you, ok?” I nodded. “My angel needs you,” 

And I did keep my promise. All the way to the year I turned eighteen. 

I passed my exams, got to the best college and commenced a new chapter in my life. There were excitement and this time I had a say on what I wanted to do. If I was uncomfortable, I could voice it out and I felt like my body was finally mine. 

But that wasn’t so easy. 

My father got way worse. 

He slept on the basement and I had to hire a housekeeper to keep an eye on him. It was hell, I am not going to lie. My father deteriorated by the day and it broke my heart. One of the housekeepers had to quit because she couldn’t handle my father’s behavior. 

It got violent. I was the only one who could bring him back to reality. 

Then something happened that changed everything. 

I came home for Christmas and headed straight for the basement. It was the norm at this point. There was even a mini-fridge in the back for water and other easy to chew foods. 

“Father, I’m home,” I said casually, going down the stairs. 

As I stepped on the last step, I heard some odd noises. Wet noses. 

“Father?” 

Then some moaning and panting. 

I gasped in disgust at my father, who kneeled before the sculpture was masturbated in front of it. It took me a second to react and I ran back up and shut the door. I didn’t stop there. I ran out of the house. 

I ran and ran until I fell on my knees and cried as the snowflakes landed on my face. 

How humiliating. How disgusting. 

I didn’t deserve this. 

Anger got the best of me and went to the local store and bought a metal baseball bat. It was time to end this. It was time to set my father free. 

My hands trembled as I opened the basement door. My father sat there, sleeping and I did my best to walk quietly. It was better that he woke up after I smashed its face. Then I could deal with the consequences later. I could live with myself knowing that my father could hate me with all his might as long as this thing was destroyed. 

I raised the bat and took a deep breath. I kept taking breaths but I couldn’t swing it. My father’s words came back, _he is part of our family now, Bard. We have to love him like any other member, ok?_

Tears rolled down my cheek and it angered me that I couldn’t do it. Was I sick too? I couldn’t hurt it even if my father’s life depended on it! 

I lowered the bat and fell on my knees. As I looked up, the sculpture looked down on me. I was so _powerless_. 

“Son?” 

I looked back, startled. 

“You’re back,” he smiled and hugged me. I wanted to push him away. To get his disgusting hands away from me. 

But all I did was sob. 

“Bard, how are your sculpting skills going?” asked father at the dinner table. 

He said that he wanted some father-son bonding time so he finally got out. The light highlighted how old he was. 

“They are improving,” 

“Can you start making the wings?” I stopped eating. 

My father looked so normal as he ate. It was the first time I saw him as composed as he was many years ago. 

“It will be a bit complicated. I am still taking classes.” 

“You’ve been sculpting since you were young. I’ve seen your work. It’s good for him. Start making them.” 

“Father, it takes months, even years to finish something so big. I am not ready to do it.” 

“You are ready,” 

“No, I am not.” 

“I said you are!” he banged his bonny hand on the table, making the new housekeeper yelp from the kitchen. 

I just looked at him, my hand on the knife, clutching it for dear life. 

“It... costs a lot of money...” I said softly. 

“Money is not an issue. Take a year off from college and finish it. Once you are done, you can do whatever you fucking want with your life. This is what I made you study. For this purpose, only. I don’t care about anything else. All I care is for to see my anger with his wings back.” 

I was outraged by his words. 

I had to getaway. Father-son bonding time bullshit! It hurt knowing that I was second to that bloody sculpture and it didn’t bother him to keep reminding me of it. What did I do to deserve this? 

My father’s condition turned for the worse again. But this time his body had completely given up on him. He needed oxygen and IVs in other to maintain his organs working. He didn’t want to be at the hospital. All he wanted was to be close to his angel so I had to intervene. 

“Father, you can’t stay in the basement. All the equipment that you need can’t fit there. You need this in order to live. Please, just stay still.” 

“Then... then just bring my angel up to the first floor.” I shook my head. 

“You can’t be where I am working. The powder of the marble can be bad for you,” 

His eyes lit up. 

“You are going to make them...” I nodded. “Thank you, Bard. Thank you so much!” he cried. “As long as you make them and keep him company I will stay put, ok? I will stay at the house, you can bring all of this there, right?” I nodded again. “Good boy! Finally, he can have his wings back.” 

I was approached by the doctors and suggested for him to be admitted to a mental facility. There he would get all the treatments he needed to get better. I considered it for a moment but I knew that father didn’t have enough time and I knew that seeing his angel with his wings would make him happy. 

Plus, I wasn’t comfortable with the other alternative. 

Lobotomy. 

I’ve seen the patient when they come out of it. Lifeless creatures that drool and look aimlessly at a point in space. My father may be insane but how could I take his freedom away? No. He stays home. 

Even if my father didn’t ask for it, I always made sure to show him the process. We had to make some renovations in order to transport the marble inside the house. It was more money spent but the sooner I made this, the better. 

It always brought a little bit of life to his eyes when I showed him the sketches of the wings and how it would look when it was finished. It took me longer than I anticipated since I had to take care of my father and get a job. It was a small one but it was my money and it was something that brought _me_ a little bit of peace. 

“Bard?” 

“Yes?” 

“What’s this?” 

He pointed at something on my drawing. I leaned over and saw that on the bottom of the rock that the sculpture was leaning one were some words. 

“It’s some details of the sculpture.” 

My father looked at it very carefully. 

“Are you going to sculpt that into it?” 

“Hm?” I was confused. “That’s always been there, father.” 

He looked at me confused and shocked. 

“Can... Can you tell me what it says here? I don’t have my reading glasses.” 

“It’s not English, so I don’t know what it says. They look like runes to me.” 

My father continued to study it. 

“I believe the word that’s on top of those runes, as you put it, it’s my angel’s name,” 

“Father, come, eat your food,” 

“Thr... Thran...” 

“Father,” I insisted. 

“Thran...duil. Thranduil.” 

I felt the hair on my skin rise. I felt an electric sensation going down my spine. I clutched the collar of my shirt as I staggered a bit. What just happened? 

“Bard?” 

“Y-Yes?” 

“Are you sure you didn’t just add this to your sketch? My son, I know every detail of my angel, and this wasn’t on him.” 

I had to get away again. 

What was that reaction? I never felt something like that and it frightened me. It was like something awoke and suddenly I was under a spotlight where everyone could see me. No matter how much I ran, I was being seen... I was being hunted. 

But the further I got away from my house, the better I felt. 

I know that I had to go back, sooner than later. There was no way I could let my father be alone, unattended for such a long time but I needed some time to breathe. I needed some time to collect myself. 

There were still the wings to make and I hadn’t even started them yet. This project could take a year or so to perfect it in order to make my father happy. He had been getting better even though he was still obsessed with the sculpture but it looked like the more he stayed up and less on the basement, the more lucid and cooperate he was. 

My fear was that once I finished them and go back to college, my father would go back to his madness. 

There was a matter of how, after finishing the wings, I was going to put them on. 

I probably needed some sort of strong cement or something in order for it to stay put, plus I needed some support for the wings. I knew that the cement alone wouldn’t stand it so I had to make some other alterations. 

My father didn’t like that. 

“I don’t want any alterations. You are the professional here, you know how to finish it correctly,” but I wasn’t! I was still fairly new to the art. 

“Father, I have no idea how the sculpture looked like with the wings. The shape and position are essential. The sculpture itself might not carry it correctly, it could tip to one side and knock it to the ground, if I make it too soft, the wings can look unnatural and not last.” I clenched my fists. “I am not a professional...” 

“Just ask Thranduil,” I shivered at the name. “He can show you,” 

I let out a sigh of frustration and left. 

I went back to the basement and sat in front of it. 

My sketchbook was on the floor filled with sketches and sketches of the sculpture with its wings in different positions and, if I was being completely honest, they all seemed wrong. I knew that but I just wanted to get this over with. 

I was so desperate. 

Of course, the sculpture wouldn’t talk to me back. It’s not alive. It was just a rock that someone gave it form. 

I sighed and massaged my temples. 

“My father is out of his mind...” I said softly and I looked up. “What were your wings like?” then I felt foolish. I even laughed at myself. “I can’t believe I just did that.” I kept laughing. “Maybe I am losing it too, huh? Must be nice being the spectator of this madness.” 

I stood up and went back, my eyes felt heavy all of a sudden and all I wanted was to go to sleep. 

I was walking through a maze. 

The sickly-sweet smell of the flowers was familiar and the colors of the petal were vibrant, glowing in contrasts with the cloudy and dark sky. Beautiful but deadly. I knew that I was safe. There was no sense of persecution as I entered deeper into the maze. And this time I knew where I was going. 

Every turn had a purpose and a single destination. 

When I finally arrived in the middle of the maze, I saw a bed make of stone and velvety crimson cloak hiding something. Under it looked like there was a person, laying as if it was the most comfortable thing in the world. 

My body trembled but I still walked closer to it. 

There was an answer there yet I didn’t know what I was going to gaze upon. 

When I got closer, I touched the cloak but I wasn’t given the chance to reveal what was under it. But then it moved and I took a few rushed steps back. It rose tall and mighty. 

Thunder illuminated the sky but as soon as a pale hand extended, everything stood still. Only my harsh breathing was audible. 

The hand was there, waiting for me to take it but I didn’t. I wouldn’t dare touch it. And it knew. It knew that I had no intention of doing so. I felt a wave of sadness coarse through my body, I could feel my cheeks wet. The hand disappeared and it hunched forward. 

The earth under my feet moved, mimicking my own trembles and something moved under the cloak. Something was fighting to break free from the fabric. I could hear the cloth tearing until something ripped from it revealing what it was. 

I screamed. 

And I woke up. 

My clothes were drenched in sweat and my heart was beating fast. I looked around and I was back on my room. Everything looked normal but I wasn’t feeling normal. 

I rushed to the kitchen and drank four glasses of water. 

The image was burned into my mind and I didn’t know what to do. How was I going to show that to my father? But I needed to get it done and run away from this place as soon as possible. 

Half a year passed and I finished the wings. 

When my father heard the news, he wept with joy. It was the type of cry you would expect from a man who just became a father or a man that saw the love of his life walking beautifully down the aisle of a church. But my father saved those tears for his angel. 

“How... long will it take for you to assemble it?” he asked, desperately. 

“I am having trouble with the type of adhesive I am using and I am running out of options but I can make something work for you, father. I just need until tomorrow.” 

“Ah... yes, yes... I... I can wait for another day. I have waited years for my angel, another day wouldn’t hurt.” 

He put his arm over his eyes and continued weeping. I decided to leave him be. There was no point in me staying watching how my father showed that much of affection over a piece of rock. I may have gotten used it but there is so much a person can handle. 

When the morning came, I was nervous. 

There were some complications with the wings. 

They didn’t stick properly and I knew why. I was convincing myself that it was the cement since the epoxy was useless too. There was no way I wanted to show my father something like these but both of us were at the end of our rope. 

My father walked down with my help. He had his eyes closed because he wanted to be a surprise—like a child. I didn’t protest even though it was kind of dangerous. 

“Father, before you open your eyes there is something—” 

“Now, now, Bard. We can talk later. Am I in front of my angel?” 

“...yes.” I guided him to the chair and he sat. It still surprised me how thin his arms were. “You can open them now,” 

When he did, he didn’t gasp or anything. His face was unreadable. I was a foolish man to think that maybe my father knew about Thranduil’s true— 

“My angel...” he whispered. Now I could see the tears pouring. “Oh... my son, you have made me so... happy,” 

I wanted to cry. 

“It’s nothing, father.” 

“He is perfect,” 

He wasn't. 

“My angel.” 

No. 

“Finally, I can see your wings,” 

They aren’t. 

After a few minutes later my father looked at me with confusion. 

“Bard, why are there ropes around Thranduil’s wings?” I hesitated for a moment. 

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. There were no adhesive strong enough to hold the wings. No matter what I did, it didn’t stick correctly and they will fall if the ropes don’t hold them in place.” 

My father shook his head. 

“But you said it was ready,” 

“They are but the adhesive hasn’t yet completely dried. I just didn’t want you to keep waiting.” I didn’t want to be here a second longer. 

“Take the ropes off.” 

“What?” 

“Take off the ropes.” 

“Father, I don’t think—” 

“TAKE THEM OFF!” he screamed and I took a step back. 

Anger rose from inside me as I saw my father panting and looking at me with ungratefulness. I had had it. I had it with this shitty life my father made me live. I don’t deserve this! 

“You want them off? Fine!” 

I cut the ropes and I could hear the cracking noise of the wings. The weight was too much and they fell, breaking on the floor. I saw how my effort; my time and my love were crumbling at my feet and I couldn’t stop myself from crying. 

Whatever I did it was never good enough for him. 

“Make them again,” 

“No.” 

“Bard Bowman, you need to make them again.” 

“I said no! I’ve had enough! I’ve had enough of you,” I pointed to my father, “and I’ve had enough of _you_ ,” I glared to Thranduil. “Both of you have ruined my life and it ends here. I gave you your wings and this should be enough. I should be in college, making friends, going out and enjoying life but you have me here and it sickens me. You sicken me,” 

My father was in pure shock. 

“How dare you talk to me like this, you ungrateful child! I gave you everything! All I ever asked was for you to make the wings and you can’t even make that! You are useless! You are useless!” 

“I am leaving,” 

“Don’t you dare walk away from me! Don’t walk away from _us_!” 

“Watch me,” 

I called the housekeeper and told her what happened and what my plans were. I even called the doctor and told him that they could take him whenever they wanted. I had money and I was working enough to earn a living. 

It was a disaster, though. It was to be expected. 

My father had to be sedated and taken by force. I wish I could say that it broke my heart but my heart was broken before this. There was nothing else emotionally that I could give to him and I had to make a decision for myself since he couldn’t. 

After I went back to college, I decided to change my major and continue with my life. I didn’t want to know about the art world, about sculpture—about anything that had to do with my father and with Thranduil. 

I never went back into that house, not even when my father died. 

On his will, he gave everything to me and as his last wish, he wanted to be buried with Thranduil watching over his tomb. I was twenty-five by that and was growing a family and I had no reason to refuse my father. I had grown enough to understand the world better and my hate had dissipated a little bit. 

I had no regrets about leaving. It was like I could breathe again. 

And yes, I never wanted to see Thranduil again but it wasn’t like I was going to visit my father’s grave every again. 

I turned forty, my eldest, Sigrid went to college and my other two, Bain and Tilda were at a boarding school. I was alone since my wife died and not once did I visit the past. I became a recognizable architect and I was content. 

At least... that’s what I told myself. 

I am too tired to fight myself at this point. 

I missed... Thranduil. 

I have beaten myself so many times whenever that thought crept into my mind making my heartache. I missed his smooth face, his reaching hand, and his _body_. I felt like I was becoming my father and that scared me so much. I rather kill myself than put my children what my father put me through. 

He was coming to me at night again. 

The maze was back and this time it wasn’t scary. Nothing was following me. There was just this sense of sadness to a point that it was pitying. I searched and searched but I never go to the source. I knew it was calling me, longing for me but it was too far. 

I knew this wasn’t over. 

It never was with Thranduil. 

So, I went to my office and made the preparations. 

I arrived at the cemetery. 

It was getting dark but it wasn’t like I was going to stay very long. My plan was to see Thranduil and leave. To scratch this itch once and for all... no matter how much I hated him and loved him as I did with my father, he was still part of my family. 

I really was my father’s son. 

The years and the elements really did a number on Thranduil. Here I thought that he was this ethereal being that nothing could ever damage it, but it ended being just that, a shaped rock. I felt bad but also glad that he got what he deserved. 

“Maybe now no one will go mad because of your beauty,” I said as I chuckled. “I don’t know what you did to my father but isn’t this what you wanted? To be with him for eternity?” 

I had to compose myself. I was acting like a brat at this age and it didn’t look good on me. 

Then the memory when I was ten surfaced. I really was a foolish child, huh. 

I was trying to convince myself that my longing for him was disappearing but that just made me more of a liar, but still, it was time to leave. There was no one around so there was no reason to keep still, looking up at the sculpture. But my hand twitched and I felt my cheeks getting warm with the thought. 

What if... I do it one last time? What if I gave Thranduil what he wants? Would he be satisfied and leave my dreams alone? Give my heart time to heal? 

I looked around and there was no one around. The deep breath I took smelled like rain and wet grass and it calmed me a bit. I looked down and thought of my father, if I took another step, I would be stepping on him but I had to do in order to move on. 

I didn’t apologize to my father when I move closer to Thranduil. Instinctively I took the reaching hand and a shaky breath escaped my lips. My desire was trumping over my embarrassment so I reached up, touched the stained cheek and kissed Thranduil. 

I took a step back. I let go of that hand. It was time to let go of Thranduil and the twisted love I felt for him. All my life I had to endure, battle these feelings because I just couldn’t be my father. I had to be better. 

And in some way, I was. 

“Goodbye, Thranduil,” I turned my back and walked away. 

_Bard..._

I turned my head back at the sudden call of my name. But there was no one there. 

I chuckled to myself. I was really losing it—I need to get out of here as soon as possible so I continued walking. 

A gust of wind hit me suddenly, leaves and decomposing flowers landed on me. 

_Don’t... leave..._

“Who’s there?” I yelled. It was dark now and I suddenly felt a bit of fear. 

_Crack_

It was loud. So loud that I gasped. But what I saw next made my knees weak to a point that I fell on the wet grass. 

Thranduil’s head, that has always been looking down... was looking at me. The same expression, only directed at me. My lip quivered and all I wanted to do was to run, run, run. How is that even possible... 

_Bard..._

It sounded like the wind but it was coming from Thranduil. Something inside me knew that it was him. The gentle fingers suddenly cracked, snapping like a claw. Every cracking sound was the sculpture moving, jerking like a puppet that couldn’t move quite well. 

I didn’t realize until his whole body was unattached from the rock that it was coming towards me. _Crawling_ towards me. It was then that I found my voice and let out a scream so loud that I tasted my own blood. 

His lips snapped open and it let out a gasping sound. As if it had been holding his breath for so long. I tried to get on my feet but I kept tripping like a fool. Now tears were rolling down my face as I dug my fingers on the dirt, pulling my self away from it. 

Then I felt a hand grabbed my ankle and a wave of desperation flooding my whole being. I was about to die. That’s what my instincts were telling me: Bard, you are about to be devoured. 

It pulled me back with such a force that my shirt rolled up and I heard the fabric of my pants ripping. I continued yelling as this monster got on top of me, making it impossible to breathe. It was so heavy that I was gasping for air. 

“Ba... Ba... Ba...” it said, pebbles and dirt getting on me as it moved. I pleaded for it to let go but it was futile. 

A rough hand caressed my cheek but all I could do was tremble. It let out a sigh as his fingers wiped away my tears. A crack appeared on its face and I swore I saw... skin. The more it moved, the more I noticed that something was under it. 

With a shaky hand, I removed a chunk of marble and I saw his eyes. They were the color of the sky and it was looking at me. 

“What... are you?” 

Thranduil crawled back and I finally could breathe properly. He kneeled on the grass and with desperation started to peel the marble off of him. It sounded painful but he didn’t stop and all I could do was watch. Watch in awe as a person was being revealed in front of me. Never in my imagination—as an artist, would have come up with such beauty. 

Pale skin, his hair the shade of gold, the body of a god... all of that was in front of me. That wasn’t the monster I saw in my dreams, this something celestial. 

When Thranduil finished, all I could do was whisper his name. That made him look at me properly, panting. The horror show was over but I let myself be vulnerable and didn’t realize that the real horror had yet to begin. 

“Bard...” he whispered, his voice hoarse. As if it hadn’t had a drop of water. 

“Thranduil,” I said again. 

“My Bard...” 

He crawled to me, not like before. I knew he was making a show for me. His hair cascade over his shoulder, touching the grass, there was nothing covering him now. Everything was in display and I didn’t know what to do. 

“My Bard...” 

Thranduil was on top of me now. With one hand he pushed me down on the grass gently and I did nothing but obey. I was only in awe. All I wanted to do was to stare at him for eternity. A smile appeared on his face and it was so beautiful that tears rolled down from the side of my eyes. 

Thranduil touched my face and my neck and then my lips. There was a... twisted joy. Our lips touched and I felt a jolt of shivers all over my body. It was as if I had been asleep for years and finally woke up. It made me wonder if that was how Thranduil felt. 

His tongue entered my mouth and I let it happen. My eyes rolled back in pleasure as Thranduil did as he pleased. It was overwhelming and I wanted to be like this forever. 

He broke the kiss when he felt me down there. He chuckled as he licked his lips and straightened his back. I don’t remember how it happened but suddenly my shit was wide open and he was kissing and licking me, roaming every inch of my skin. 

“Thranduil...” I gasped. 

“Yes...?” 

“Thranduil...” 

My pants were off with a swift movement and I felt exposed. My mind was trying to wake up from the pleasures but as soon as I felt his mouth I was no longer in control. His fingers were in my mouth playing with my tongue, making me suck on them as he pleasured me. 

“Thran — _ach_...Oh, my gods...” 

He took in every drop and then let it ooze from his mouth into his hands. Thranduil looked very pleased. I was in a haze. 

“What... are you doing...?” I slurred but I tried to move away when I felt one of his fingers in me. 

“My Bard...” his eyes were in pure lust as he entered his finger slowly. 

“Please... stop,” 

But my words weren’t convincing. Then another finger entered and then another. The sounds of the night were mixing with my moans and with the lewd sounds that Thranduil was creating out of me. 

I wanted more. 

And he knew it. 

He kissed me as he slowly entered me. In a pang of pain, I bit his lip and when I looked, he only looked more lustful for me. I felt wanted. I felt loved. 

Thranduil thrust and thrust until more tears rolled down. 

“Can... I... have you... my Bard?” he whispered in my ear and I nodded. 

If only I knew better. 

He showed me his face one more time and this time his lustful face had also _hunger_. Thranduil licked his lips and I could see fangs. I snapped out of it and he moaned and shook his head. 

“Do not... clench, my Bard. I... want this... to last...” 

Then, I felt his fangs on my neck and his thrust quickened. The more he drank, the faster he got. I tried to push him away but he was so strong. 

Thranduil’s mouth was covered in my blood and he licked his fingers as if he just had the most delicious delicacy. I grabbed my neck and I could feel my blood oozing out. He saw and took my hand and licked it. In all this time he was still inside of me. I was a joy ride for him. 

I was such a fool. 

I couldn’t believe I let my family alone for this. I became my father. I hated myself so much. 

“You cry now, but trust me, my love, everything will be better.” his voice was back and it was deep like thunder. 

“I am... going to die,” I cried. 

“Love is death,” 

I looked at him and I couldn’t help but pity the creature. It took Thranduil by surprise. Yes, I was going to die but I knew what love was and what love wasn’t. I knew it firsthand because I didn’t receive it so I did my best to give it. 

“It doesn’t have to be...” I looked away, ready for my fate. I made all the preparations if I ever faced my death (though I didn’t know it was going to be like this) my children will not suffer as I did. “Get on with it,” I deserve this. I brought this on myself. 

“Do you know how long I have waited for you?” Thranduil pulled out and flipped me over. He licked my neck and the blood stopped. “Do you know how much I craved you?” he entered me again and I gasped. “I am not going to let you go,” 

“Please...” 

“You are _mine_ !” he yelled and I could feel everything. “Mine!” he bit my nape, then my shoulder, then my back... it was intoxicating. “I never said you were going to die, silly boy, no-no. Love _is_ death but you are mistaken here if you think that you will slip from my grasp that easily.” 

Then he took me by the arm as he sat, grabbed my hips and entered me, hitting unknown pleasures. All I could do was hug him as his hands moved me up and down. My fingers were digging on his skin and then I felt it. Scars. 

“Love me, Bard.” he was panting now. “Hold on to me and love me,” 

“Thranduil... _ah_...” 

“You tried to run away from me, I didn’t let it happen. You tried to destroy me and you couldn’t do it. I knew you couldn’t. You love me too much, Bard. That’s how I knew you are mine. Mine!” he thrust. “Mine!” once more. “Mine!” then again. “I still remember the first time that you kiss me, you were so lovely and so innocent, oh I wanted more,” Thranduil grabbed my hair and pulled it back, then licked my neck. 

It was as if his body was made for me. Everything Thranduil did was make me moan in pleasure to a point it felt sinful. 

“Cum with me, Bard,” 

I leaned my head against him as I felt the rise of my orgasm. I couldn’t help but kiss him and then when I couldn’t anymore, I bit his neck so hard that my teeth hurt. I felt his cum in me and _I_ thrust harder and Thranduil shivered with a smiling face. He hugged me tightly and then something erupted from his back. 

Dark wings. 

Demon like wings. 

Like in my dream. 

All of my energies were gone and all I could do was fall in Thranduil’s arms. 

“You did well, my Bard,” he said and then everything went dark. “You did well...” 

I woke up in my car. The tapping of a security guard woke me up and startled me. It was morning and I was still in a haze. I rolled the car window down and muttered a good morning. 

“Good morning, sir but you are taking up two parking spaces and you can’t sleep here.” 

“I... apologize,” he saw the state I was and knew that people who came to the cemetery weren’t always in the bests of shapes. 

“Just be careful on your way home, sir,” I nodded and drove off. 

All the way to my home, I couldn’t stop thinking about Thranduil. I was actually trying to convince myself that it was all a dream but the bruises in my body told another story. Plus, my lower half hurt so much. 

I hoped that the marks would disappear before my children came home for winter break. How could I explain this to them? They would probably think I was crazy like I thought my father was crazy. Also, I hoped that this was the last time. I am too old to continue like this. 

Finally, I was back home. 

All I did was sleep until my body asked for food. Those days and those nights were a little numb. Still, the memories of Thranduil were fresh and my mind was trying its best to cope. Half of me wanted for Thranduil to never come back and the other wanted to be loved again. 

He didn't come back, though. 

Months came and went and my children were home. I was so happy to see them. They were the light that guided me through this darkness and that’s all I could ever wish for. Their laughter and banter were music to my ears. Everything was back to normal. 

When I went to tuck Tilda into bed, she grabbed my hand. 

“Da’, do you believe in angels?” 

“Do you believe in angels, love?” she giggled. 

“Da’! Don’t answer my question with a question!” 

“I’m sorry, but why you ask?” 

“Because I believe there is one watching over us?” 

I paused. 

“What makes you believe that?” 

“Because I see him every day. He is so pretty! He _has_ to be an angel,” 

“Hm.” I gave her a kiss on her forehead. “Well, one, do not talk to strangers and two, it’s time to go to sleep. I love you. See you in the morning.” 

“Goodnight, da’. Love you.” 

I went closed the door and went to my room. It was dark and cold so I went to the window. I looked outside and there was only the night. Nothing out of place. I took a deep breath and let the window half-opened and turned my back. 

Those fingers found my neck and wrapped them, tightening a bit as his mouth kissed my skin. I shivered in anticipation and then I closed my eyes. 

_Mine._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
